


set me free

by aly (leftaside)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Credence Barebone Deserves Better, Credence Barebone Gets a Hug, Credence Barebone Lives, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I couldn't help myself sorry, Newt is a sweetheart, Pre-Slash, i guess, i'm glad those are tags, if you squint there's a bit of gramander at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-11 17:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8999638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftaside/pseuds/aly
Summary: But it was too late, and Credence lost control of his beast again—unravelling around him, air crisp with magic and power—and death. Because his beast was a death machine, created to hurt and maim, feeding on anger and frustration—





	

Credence had already given up on changing his life. He had given up _years ago_.

Mary Lou’s whip had made sure of it—striking him every time she felt like it, even if he didn't do anything to warrant her anger.

One thing he hadn't given up was his adoptive younger sister’s life. If he could, he would take every whip there was to take to protect her.

He wasn't strong—not physically, not emotionally, not mentally.

But he'd do anything to protect her—take all the blame necessary for her to have a somewhat happy childhood—something he hadn't had the pleasure of having.

He had all given up on the dreams he had as a child—or so he thought.

But then Credence met Mr Graves. He felt strangely drawn to the man—with his smooth voice, his warm and caring touch, his sweet words of an unfathomable world—a world of magic standing just before him, just beyond his outstretched hand.

And Credence believed him, of course. It was all he ever dreamt about. Of escaping that terrible, _terrible_ woman into a new world where everything would be different. Where he would be accepted and loved.

Mr Graves promised him _everything_. Teaching him magic, making of Credence Barebone a _hero_. And like the foolish dreamer he was, Credence fell for his enchanting words and impossible promises.

In the meantime, while he secretly met up with the wizard, his adoptive sister would walk around the streets of New York City, leaving pamphlets in the middle of the road, singing that awful, _awful_ song. (However, Credence couldn't blame her. It was the only song that the woman would sing to them.)

It was during that time that Modesty found the odd stick that later on would cause so much trouble.

She’d see the other kids playing pretend around with them—as swords, as _magic wands_. Against her better judgement, she picked it up and felt it instantly—something warm drumming just under her palm. She carefully tucked it under her clothes and walked back to meet with her adoptive brother.

(They would later meet, after the awful accident, Modesty sobbing and fearful, and Credence relieved and scared and sobbing and _everything at the same time_. Credence would calm Modesty, the latter repeating “ _I'm sorry_ ”’s into their hug because _it was all her fault, if she hadn't picked up the wand nothing of that would've happened_ —

And Credence _—_ sweet, dear, traumatised Credence _—_ would shush her softly, rocking her in his arms, saying that _it was bound to happen—that he couldn't control anything at all and sooner or later the beast would've unleashed itself to the world_.)

His dreams of a new, non judgemental world came crumbling down when Mr Graves slapped him, and said those horrid words— _the truth of the lies he has been spouting since the very beginning_.

“A Squib,” he said.

A Squib, born of magical parents but having _no magic_ whatsoever. Mr Graves didn't plan on helping him at all—he only wanted to _use him. No better than that awful woman_.

He’d felt completely shaken, betrayed and heartbroken. He had _trusted_ this man. And look at what he got in return—

His anger was mightier than ever; his beast—that dark consuming power that took, and took, and _took_ —sprang to life and enveloped him in a protective cocoon. He couldn't see where the darkness was taking him—somewhere safe, he hoped.

He knew what this uncontrollable beast had done—all the damage, the _deaths_. He knew it all and he had tried as best as he could to _stop it—if Mr Graves discovered it, he would be so disappointed_ , he’d tell himself. _If Mary Lou discovered, she would be so angry_ , he’d think.

But there was nothing that could stop it now—he felt numb and angry at the same time, his emotions meshing together, twisting inside of him in a mighty battle that he couldn't know which would win.

The numbness won. He found himself sitting next to the tracks of the underground subway, staring right in front of him as he heard shouts and cries from above.

And then he met Newt Scamander. His voice was calm, and his eyes worried. One placating hand in front of him as he slowly approached Credence, as if he was a caged animal. He _felt_ like a caged animal.

He was talking about his experience with the same beast that possessed Credence. Of a little girl he had exorcised, of the Obscurus he had extricated from her. And how she ended up dying anyway.

He promised that he would try his best with Credence, to help him. _Promises, promises_ —

But before Credence could even move, the man with the flashy blue coat was propelled backwards by a powerful spell.

Credence’s beast— _an Obscurus_ —enveloped him again, agitated at the commotion—at the _magical battle_ occurring just before his own eyes between Mr Graves and Mr Scamander.

And although Credence should know better—he _really_ should—he couldn't bear watching as Mr Graves whipped the seemingly kind man with _lightning_.

So he struck.

He struck, and struck, and _struck_ , until he felt his beast scream and rear back as something struck _him_.

They weren't alone anymore—a dozen of wizards were surrounding them, wands pointed at Credence’s protective cocoon, spells striking him again and again until both Mr Graves and Mr Scamander cried out to _stop, you're hurting him!_

But it was too late, and Credence lost control of his beast again—unravelling around him, air crisp with _magic_ and _power_ — _and death_. Because his beast was a death machine, created to _hurt_ and _maim_ , feeding on _anger_ and _frustration_ —

“Credence!” It was a voice he instantly recognised.

His beast calmed down immediately, and Credence looked over to make sure it was _her_. And it was.

He didn't know her name—he just knew that she was the _only one_ who proved herself—who proved that she was trustworthy when she saved him that one time months ago—saved him from that bad woman who didn't remember what happened the next day just like _magic_.

And Mr Scamander took advantage of everyone’s attention on the woman—he turned around so suddenly nobody could have stopped him—

The spell hit Mr Graves before anyone could blink.

His features fell away like pouring water—gone was his salt and pepper hair, replaced by the most blonde Credence has ever seen. His face became paler and gaunt—he didn't look like Mr Graves anymore.

The other wizards moved as quickly, firing spells after spells at the blonde man, who counterattacked as swiftly.

They all forgot about Credence, who felt shell shocked as he stared at the man who wasn't Mr Graves anymore.

He hadn't noticed that his beast had all but calmed down, disappearing completely from view.

He noticed it, however, when he was suddenly engulfed in the warmest hug he ever had—the woman had approached quietly and slowly. Credence, in his disbelief, hadn't seen her.

The dark-skinned witch was talking, her voice booming in the sudden silence as the impersonator—Gellert Grindelwald—was forced to his knees. She then turned to one of the wizards around her—

“Emergency plan! Delgado, prepare a search team for the real Director Graves,” she ordered.

She did look briefly at Credence then, but before she could say anything, Mr Scamander had approached her, muttering something that Credence couldn't hear from where he stood.

After a moment of being completely rigid and tense, he finally relaxed into the welcoming warmth of the woman’s embrace, clutching to her like he was clutching for life—his eyes watered and his nose was stuffy and he started sobbing uncontrollably on her shoulder—

It was too much—too much for him, too much for his body, too much for his _mind_ —

Everything he believed came tumbling down in just one evening—in just a few _hours_.

Modesty had a magic wand, Mary Lou and Chastity died ( _he killed them, he killed them, he killed them—_ ), Mr Graves’s betrayal, Mr Scamander’s promises, this woman’s appearance, Mr Graves not being Mr Graves, this woman’s _hug_ —

He felt absolutely drained.

Mr Scamander joined them after doing something with a magnificent flying beast—and why couldn't _Credence’s beast_ be as charming and useful? _It wasn't fair, it wasn't_ —

“Madame President agreed to let me take care of Credence,” Mr Scamander said as he approached.

Credence twitched in the woman’s hug, but it was the only thing that showed that he heard him.

“Maybe we should get him first to an hospital,” the woman holding him murmured, voice soothing. “He’s exhausted and needs treatment.”

And that’s how Credence found himself in this magical hospital.

He had never been to a hospital before, but this one didn't have the magical touch he was expecting. Sure, there weren't any machines—but the walls, the sheets, the floor, were all this bright shade of white that gave Credence a headache.

Mr Scamander came to visit him often, as he was now responsible for Credence. Sometimes, that wonderful woman came with him, too— _Tina_ , she had said with a warm and charming smile.

They also found the real Mr Graves after some time, too—inside Grindelwald’s narrow suitcase, nothing to do with Mr Scamander’s wild one. He was found battered and worse for wear, and was sent to the same hospital as Credence.

He had been curious, of course. He wanted to see if the real one was anything like the fake one. But he nobody let him leave the room, and Mr Scamander said the man was still unconscious—and would stay so until someone finally found the counter for the curse Grindelwald cast.

When he left the hospital, Credence immediately requested seeing his adopted sister—his scared, _terrified_ sister who would probably _never_ forgive him for what he has done—

And Mr Scamander smiled and indulged his whim. And took Modesty under his wing as well when he found out she was magical.

It was awkward, at first—neither of the three were used to touch, to talking with others. But they needn't to—Mr Scamander’s beasts were all that they needed. The man would tell them how to approach and care for each one of them, and later in the night, he would talk about his adventures around the world to find them and protect them—and of the adventures they will have together, in a near future, _definitely_.

The real Mr Graves came to visit them, once he was out of the hospital. Knocked on the door, and Mr Scamander greeted him with an awkward smile and averted eyes. Modesty and Credence stood in the background, wary and not approaching.

Credence felt something churn in his gut at the sight of _that_ face—he had to remind himself that _no, this is not the fake one_. This is _not_ the Dark Lord that used him like a puppeteer—pulling the right string for the right reaction.

Mr Scamander invited him for tea—“Not tea? Coffee then?”—and he entered the house, looking immensely uncomfortable. This definitely wasn't the same Mr Graves he met—this one was more _human_ , instead of the confident God-like impostor.

He talked with Mr Scamander for a while—and at the end of their conversation, Mr Scamander had a small smile and Mr Graves’s eyes were softer, so unlike the impostor’s cold ones—

And then he turned his head in Credence’s direction, looking hesitant but determined at the same time. Credence flinched slightly. Modesty, behind him, looked around him in curiosity—she remembered his face, of course, he had come to her, asking if she was alright and _what happened?_

But she also knew this wasn't the same man as then.

“Credence…” Mr Graves’s voice was familiar, but it was a soft tone, an edge so different than before— “I’m sorry for what Grindelwald did to you while using my face.”

Credence shuffled his feet, not meeting his eyes. “It wasn't you. It wasn't your fault.”

“It was my fault for letting myself be captured in the first place,” the man insisted. “And I am sorry for that.”

Credence shook his head—he didn't need his apologies. _This_ wasn't the man who used him mercilessly. This was a man who apparently deserved Mr Scamander’s soft gaze, so he couldn't be _that_ bad.

“But it wasn't you,” Modesty cut in, stepping away from Credence to fully show herself. “Mr Scamander told us that he was a Dark Lord, feared by everyone around the world. I think it was very brave of you to even think of battle against him.”

Her brutal honesty shocked Mr Graves, who stared at her for a moment in utter silence.

He then denied it fiercely because _it was something anyone would’ve done in the same situation_ —but _no_ , Modesty would then say, _some people would run away, or go willingly to not suffer_ —

And so it went.

Credence and Modesty ended up sitting around the table with both men, drinking hot chocolate while Modesty and Mr Graves continued talking, each one as adamant as the other, and Mr Scamander would sigh softly, looking fondly at both of them.

And Credence felt himself smile a little when Mr Graves couldn't find any more arguments against Modesty and ended up losing.

A year later, after going around the world, following Mr Scamander, searching for beasts, writing his book—they returned to the United States. They met Tina at the docks, smile bright and teary-eyed. And she hugged him again, warm and _marvellous_ —she caressed his face gently, eyes soft and affectionate. He readily leaned on the contact.

This time, she also hugged Modesty, and he could understand Modesty’s surprised face—how her eyes widened and her mouth opened in a silent yelp—how her face flushed with the warmth of the unexpected embrace—and she hugged back tightly, clinging to the amazing warmth.

They went to visit Miss Goldstein’s sister at MACUSA—a lovely lady with golden locks and a bright, genuine smile. Just like her sister, she hugged them tightly and took an instant liking to them.

The three of them stayed longer in New York City this time—Mr Scamander was there to publish his book, which would be now mandatory in Ilvermorny, the American magical school.

Mr Graves would join them most of the time, helping taking care of Mr Scamander’s beasts while talking amiably with him. Credence felt more comfortable, now—a year had gone by, and Mr Graves would come often when Mr Scamander had trouble with other countries’ ministry.

(Mr Scamander’s brother would come sometimes, too, ending up chastising his younger brother before hugging him tightly and leaving. Mr Graves, on the other hand, would help them, sigh, and mutter about Mr Scamander being the reason “ _my hair’s whiter than ever_.”)

He would comment from time to time about the beasts’ illegality, complain that Mr Scamander should definitely get a permit—and “ _quickly before I lose my patience_.” But in the end, he would still pet some of the beats with a gentle smile that was becoming familiar to Credence—a _genuine_ gentle smile.

This was good. This was a world he wouldn't mind living in. _All was well._

**Author's Note:**

> I ended up having this idea by 4am and would hate myself if I didn't write it. I've also been having problems writing one-shots, so I wanted to see if I could still write one.
> 
> Let me know what you think!


End file.
